An Unexpected Journey
by DoktorApplejuce
Summary: The Battle of the Department of Mysteries doesn't quite go as planned. After being hit by curse from a Death Eater, Harry is sent flying through a time-warping bell jar. Waking up five years later to a world he hardly recognizes, Harry discovers that people he once knew are gone and enemies are apparently now friends. And just who is that in his bed?
1. Chapter 1 - An Unexpected Journey

**Chapter 1 – An Unexpected Journey**

They were surrounded. That was immediately apparent to Harry as he glanced quickly at the Death Eaters that formed a rough circle around him and his friends. What was worse, was they were outnumbered; nearly two to one, by much more experienced fighters.

"hand me the prophesy, Potter" Lucius Malfoy purred, gracefully inching forward. "Hand me the prophesy, and you have my word your friends will live."

It was tempting, Harry had to admit. He likely wouldn't survive whatever plans they had, but if it allowed everyone else to escape unscathed, he would have considered it. _Would have_ considered it, had the word of a sworn Death Eater meant much.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he glanced at Ron, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod of his head. On Harry's other side, Hermione did the same.

"Promise you'll let them go," Harry stated, allowing some of the nervousness he truly felt seep into his voice. _Let them think it was for their current situation, rather than what he was about to do._

"I promise," Lucius replied, reaching forward for the smooth glass orb in Harry's hand. A smirk graced the blonde man's lips. Had he been less focused on the prophesy, he may have noticed Harry unsheathe his wand behind his back.

"NOW!" Harry shouted, letting fly a _Reducto_ at the nearby shelves as his five companions followed suit in near perfect synchronicity.

In the ensuing chaos of collapsing wood and glass, the group of six bolted, not waiting for the Death Eaters' retaliation. Jets of red light chased after them, missing by mere inches.

"No! You'll destroy the prophesy, you fools!" Harry heard Lucius all but screech.

Not caring to look back at what their pursuers were planning, Harry continued forwards as fast as his feet could carry him. All around him shards of glass and splintering shelves flew in complete pandemonium. Yet, thanks to the effects of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, all he could hear was his own ragged breath and the sound of his teeth rattling in his skull from the impact of every hurried footstep.

There, ahead, a doorway lay open, and Harry bolted through. Hermione and Neville were right on his heels, and with a murmured spell, Hermione fused the door with the surrounding doorframe, effectively barricading them within.

Harry paused for a moment to catch his breath before taking stock of the room they had taken refuge inside. To his left sat a familiar shimmering bell jar where a tiny egg was hatching and unhatching in a seemingly endless loop. Neville and Hermione had grouped up near the back of the room, behind the table full of time-turners.

"Where's Ron?" Harry gasped, realized that the size of their group had effectively been halved. "Where's Ginny and Luna?

Hermione blanched. "I-I don't know," She stammered, "They were right beside us, I swear!"

Before Harry could retort, a heavy thump reverberated from the other side of the charmed door.

"Move out of the way!" shouted a boisterously gruff voice. " _Bombarda_!"

Two large and brutish looking Death Eaters burst through the previously sealed doorway, and as if choreographed, began firing off a barrage of deadly looking curses and hexes at the three Gryffindors. Hermione and Neville manage to throw themselves to the ground just as a series of sickly purple jets of light soared through the space their heads had occupied mere seconds prior.

A hastily cast protego caught the hexes sent Harry's direction. The bespectacled wizard had to fight the urge to wipe the sweat dripping down the side of his face and keep both hands on his rapidly heating wand. His conjured shield buckled under the strain of the Death Eaters' onslaught until with an earsplitting CRACK, it finally shattered.

Harry suppressed a yelp of pain as a tendril of fire wrapped around his arm and pulled with an inhuman force. With a jolt, he found himself sailing face-first across the room towards his two assailants. A pedestal loomed in his line of sight, rapidly growing in apparent size. Harry managed to catch a glimpse of the bell jar that sat upon it and the constantly hatching and unhatching egg within before throwing his arms up to protect his face.

There was a distinct sound of smashing glass and Harry barely registered the feeling of an impact before the world lurched, and he knew no more.

-0-0-0-0-

Harry's mind was in a dense fog. At least that's what it seemed like. He couldn't see anything, and he was having trouble remembering just where he was. The sound of shuffling feet and rustling clothes purveyed his muddled senses, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of who it could have been.

The rustling drew closer and then stopped. Whoever it was that shared the room he occupied, was close. Had his brain been functioning at full capacity, he would have found himself worried about their intentions. As it was, he merely found himself mildly curious.

"I'll be home late tonight," A soft, somewhat husky, and evidently female voice spoke out just above his left ear. Had Harry control of his bodily functions, he would have flinched. "Try not to get yourself blown up."

 _Odd_ , Harry thought. Something like that could have almost been interpreted as a threat, and considering his life thus far, such a threat wouldn't have been entirely unexpected. Yet, the person sounded… amused. Like it was a joke. _Who would find me being blown up funny?_

Before he could chase this line of thought, his mental faculties screeched to a halt as something soft pressed against his lips. It was only for a brief second, but Harry was certain it was another set of lips. It felt distinctly similar to when Cho had cornered him under the mistletoe earlier that year. Only, it was less salty, warmer, and not nearly as wet.

Harry held stock still. Not that he had much choice, considering. As the unidentified woman's footsteps left his side, Harry didn't even dare to breathe. The audible squeak of a door swinging slowly open filled the room, and the footsteps grew muffled until disappearing entirely. About a minute later, in the distance, the thud of a much heavier door slamming shut rang out.

So, he was alone now. At least, that was the conclusion Harry came to. He couldn't hear anyone else; no footsteps, no rustling of clothing, and no audible breathing.

 _Speaking of breathing_. Harry let out the air he'd been holding, only now feeling safe enough to do so. _Well, that was strange_ , he mentally intoned. Quite the understatement, he realized.

He would have time later to contemplate just _how_ strange it had been later, he decided. Now that he'd been left alone here, he could properly spend the time figuring out where exactly _here_ was.

He was on a bed. That much was obvious, seeing as how the surface he was laying on was soft. Too soft to be the beds in the Hogwarts infirmary. Too soft even to be his four-poster up in Gryffindor tower. So, _here_ wasn't Hogwarts. Was _here_ safe? What did he need to be safe from? What had he been doing previously? Something about an egg? And shelves? _That's right_ , he had been in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. He'd gone there to save Sirius with his friends.

 _His friends!_

Harry sat bolt upright. Apparently he felt fine enough to move now. A triumph to be sure. Or, it would have been, had it not been overshadowed by the rising panic he was now experiencing as he rapidly peered around the room for any clue as to the well-being of his friends.

There were none to be had. Instead, he could now see the bed he lay upon; wide, luxurious, and adorned with thick, silvery sheets. It was plush, and fit for a king, but that did little to alleviate his worries. Beyond the bed, the room was a blur.

Being used to blindness as he was, Harry hastily felt around for his glasses. It took several minutes to find them perched on a nearby end table, and the shakily pushed them onto his face before taking proper assessment of his surroundings.

The walls of the room were a deep green complemented by silver accented baseboards. Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, he took the opportunity to gag at the decidedly Slytherin colours. He was pleased to note, however, that the end table upon which he'd discovered his glasses, was a very bombastic shade of bright red adorned with shiny golden inlays.

On the floor, by his side of the bed, was a haphazard pile of clothes. Upon the discovery of this, he realized with slight embarrassment that he was completely starkers. Electing to rectify that, he rose to unsteady legs, and with some amount of difficulty, slid the clothes on. They must have been left there for them, as they fit perfectly. Much better than any set he'd ever owned before, save perhaps for the dress robes he'd worn for the Yule Ball the year previous.

The door to the room had been left open, so he had no problems creeping out into the hall. Glancing around, he saw no one else. Nearby, were two flights of stairs. One that led upwards, and one that led down. Heading downwards seemed like the right way to go, Harry decided, recalling a shuttered window in the room behind him. He wasn't in a basement, so the path to freedom had to lay below.

He winced at the noisy groans that each step emitted upon receiving the slightest bit of weight, and ended up taking a much slower journey than he normally would have liked, but eventually, the stairs leveled out into an oddly familiar foyer.

It was much cleaner than he recalled, and between the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the new paint job, and the absence of the eerie shrunken elf heads that had once adorned the walls, Number 12 Grimmauld Place was immeasurably more hospitable than it had been the previous summer. He noted with amusement that the painting of Sirius' mother was among the many items that had been noticeably removed, as had the hideous troll-leg umbrella stand Tonks always seemed prone to trip over.

Harry didn't stop for long to admire the freshly cleaned environment, however, as a distinct clunk of something heavy and made of metal sounded out from down the hall. Spinning on his heels, he turned to face the source; the kitchen, with its door ajar.

Silently as he could, he tip-toed forwards, listening to a distinct sizzling interlaced with… _was that humming_? It was raspy, almost guttural, but it was something that somewhat resembled a melody, if one had a particularly active imagination and a suspension of disbelief.

Gently pressing his palm to the wood of the door, he pushed it open. There, at the stove, jovially preparing eggs and rashers of bacon in an oversized pan, dancing a bizarre jig as he did so, was-

"Kreatcher?!" Harry gasped, his eyes widening comically.

The usually dour house elf spun around, a smile on his face, and an unfitting pink apron dangling from his neck.

"Master Harry Potter is awake!" He chirped. _Chirped!_ And what was this ' _Master'_ Harry Potter business?

"Where the bloody hell did you get that apron?" the green eyed teen sputtered, having just noticed the monogrammed 'kiss the chef' script scrawled across it. _Okay, maybe not the most pressing of matters_ , Harry mentally acknowledged, but his brain was having troubles processing everything at once, and that definitely stood out.

Kreatcher glanced down at the ludicrous garb, as if only just noticing he was wearing it. After a moment, he tilted his head back up to stare at the dark haired wizard, blink owlishly.

"Mistress' sister is giving it as a Christmas present," the house elf replied flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry's mind reeled back to the painting that had once hung in the entry hall; the one of Sirius' mother, and Kreatcher's supposed mistress. Her sister gave that as a gift? From the stories Sirius used to tell of his family, he'd never taken them as the kind of people to have as a sense of humor.

Shaking his head violently to clear it, he decided to dive into what was important; what had happened, and where his companions were. _And who was the woman who'd kissed him earlier_?

"Kreatcher," Harry began, casting his gaze about the gleaming ( _gleaming_! Sirius had really put in a lot of work over the past year) kitchen, "Where is everyone else."

"Mistress is gone," Kreatcher replied, turning back to the food on the stove.

"I noticed," Harry remarked dryly, before realizing he may have been rather insensitive of the normally creepy house elf's feelings. "Er… I'm sorry?"

Kreatcher paused in his task to glance over his shoulder at Harry, a confused expression on his face, rather than the sad one Harry had been expecting.

"Master's guests are still asleep," the house elf continued, "They might be- oh, there's Master Draco, sir."

Harry whipped around and immediately blanched. As Kreatcher had stated, there stood Draco Malfoy lazily stretching in the doorway behind Harry. His trademark platinum coloured hair lay disheveled on his head, and he looked perhaps more haggard than Harry recalled, but it was clearly him, complete with a set of pale blue silk pajamas.

"Morning," Mumbled the blonde, shuffling past a horror struck Harry and taking a seat at the nearby table. Letting out a yawn, the normally arrogant Slytherin turned his gaze to the Gryffindor. "You alright there, Scar-head?" letting an amused smirk pull at the corners of his mouth.

That served as the last straw for Harry. Jerking out of his stupor, he slowly backed out of the room, before turning and bolting for the door. Barely pausing to throw it open, he continued on his mad dash onto the street, ignoring Kreatcher's calls behind him.

He ran down the block, continuing on his flight with no particular destination in mind, narrowly avoiding any pedestrian he came across. A few muttered angrily after him, but he didn't care. Another block blew by, and then another, and then another. He didn't slow his pace until his legs and lungs simultaneously screamed in agony for him to stop.

Slowing to a walk, he panted heavily, allowing his mind to sluggishly catch up to him. And then, it all hit like a hammer to concrete.

 _What_ in the absolute _hell_ was _Draco Malfoy_ doing at _Grimmauld Place_? If he knew its location, then his father must know as well. His father, who had been leading the ambush at the Ministry. Where were his friends? Were they even alive? Was there anyone he could turn to, considering the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix had been compromised?

As these questions ricocheted around in his head, he continued to wander. For how long, he wasn't sure, but it had to have been at least a few hours, judging by the fact that the sun was high overhead. It had been just after sunrise when he had left Grimmauld Place.

As he continued walking down London's busy streets, allowing his feet to instinctively guide him, he eventually spotted a familiar pub on the other side of the street. Sprinting across at the first gap in traffic, he pushed his way through the muggles that bustled past the run-down door that was his target, seemingly without noticing it. With a sigh of relief, he gripped the rusty old door handle and entered the Leaky Cauldron.

Inside the dimly lit tavern, the usual quiet din bubbled up between patrons, none of them taking notice of his entrance. A relief to be sure, especially in contrast to his very first ever visit of the pub.

Still, despite not being the center of attention, he was weary of being surrounded by wizards. If they could track him down to a supposedly uncharitable house, Voldemort's followers could undoubtedly track him down to here; one of wizarding Britain's most heavily trafficked venues.

Cautiously, he reached for his back pocket where he normally stored his wind, only to find it empty. Of course; there's no way the Death Eaters would have allowed him to keep his wand, he realized, suppressing the urge to plant his face into the palms of his hands. Though, in hindsight, the ease at which he had escaped was peculiar. Perhaps they were trying to lull him into a false sense of security? Well, they were kidding themselves if they thought they could catch him off guard that easily.

Stealthily as he could, Harry made his way around the outside edge of the pub, keeping his back pressed to the wall at all times to avoid anyone sneaking up behind him. He had made it nearly halfway to the entrance to the courtyard which would lead him to Diagon Alley when a rather cheerful voice called out.

"Harry?"

Said wizard nearly jumped out of his skin, not having noticed the raven-haired witch who now stood beside him, right in the one direction he hadn't been looking. _Great vigilance_ , he mentally sneered. Moody would have had a conniption fit had he been there.

"Cho?" He gasped, recognizing the pretty seeker from Ravenclaw.

Her hair was up in a rather simple braid, which he'd never seen before. As long as he could remember, she'd always worn her hair down, even during quidditch matches. Her eyes also seemed to be free from excess moister, and lacked their normal redness and puffiness. A surprising, but welcome change to be sure.

"What are you doing?" She asked, snapping him from his observation.

"Uh…," he began to reply, rather dumbly, "the usual, you know."

 _Great answer, Potter._

Cho quirked a well-manicured eyebrow, clearly expressing the fact that she, in no way shape or form, believed him. Thankfully, she didn't seem to find it prudent to push the issue, and instead, changed the subject. "So… how's your arm?"

His arm?

"Fine," he replied, not sure how else to answer. It seemed to be an odd question.

The bell at the front of the Leaky Cauldron. High on alert, Harry's head whipped around to observe a hunched over old witch shuffle over the threshold before making her way towards a nearby table, where a group of other elderly witches were waving to her. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Harry?" Cho asked, reminding the wizard of her presence, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry replied tersely, not particularly eager to continue his conversation with her. Things hadn't exactly ended well between them, and he still hadn't fully forgiven her. Still, she wasn't a Death Eater, he was certain, so her presence was admittedly an upgrade from his previous companionship.

"Are you sure?" she continued, "You seem tense."

Harry groaned. As much as he hated to admit it, her being there presented an opportunity, and she didn't seem keen on leaving. He may not be happy with her, but if it meant keeping a hostile wand off his back, then her help might just be necessary.

"Actually, no," he said, bringing his voice down to a mere whisper, "I'm not fine. People are after me, Cho. Bad people."

Cho's face flashed in surprise, before she schooled her features.

"Who?" She whispered back, casting a surreptitious glance at the entrance to the pub.

"Death Eaters," was his reply.

"They're back?" Cho gasped.

"Of course," Harry frowned, feeling a shot of annoyance stab him in the gut. He'd been telling everyone that Voldemort had returned all year. It would stand to reason his followers were back too. The Ravenclaw girl had claimed she believed him. She had even said she had read his interview in the Quibbler, where he had named the Death Eaters he'd seen at Voldemort's resurrection. Had she been lying?

"I can take you to my place," she began, taking hold of his arm, jostling him out of his morose reverie. Harry resisted his impulse to pull away from the action. He wasn't fond of the intimacy of it. "We've got a floo you can use to call the Ministry if you need."

"No," Harry hissed in panic, nearly pulling his arm out of her grasp. The dark haired witch seemed shocked at his outburst, but her grip held strong. "Not the Ministry," He elaborated. He still didn't know what all had happened there, and it could be crawling with Death Eaters for all he knew.

"Alright," Cho flushed, "Not the Ministry. You can call whoever you need though."

Harry relaxed a little at that. For nearly a few minutes, hew internally weighed the pros and cons of going with her. He didn't fully trust her, especially after the revelation that she may have been lying to him all year about believing him. That weighed heavily on him. However, so too did the wellbeing of his friends. Eventually, their safety won out. Cho might be a liar, but at least she wasn't a masked psychopath.

"Okay," He agreed, turning towards the direction of Diagon Alley.

He was surprised however, when instead of setting out forward like he had expected, Cho turned on the spot. And then suddenly, he felt like he was being squeezed through a tube. With a loud CRACK he found his feet make contact with the ground, not realizing they had ever left in the first place. His knees buckled, and he fell over.

"Oh!" Cho squeaked, hurriedly offering an arm to help him up, "Are you okay? I'm sorry! I didn't realize your legs were injured!"

 _Injured?_ He internally huffed. _You try staying upright after being chucked at the ground out of nowhere, you crazy-_ Harry suppressed the urge to be outwardly hostile. He needed her help.

"It's fine," He grumbled, dusting himself and his pride off as he rose to a stand, shrugging off Cho's offered assistance.

"Here," The witch began, gently placing an arm around his shoulders. Harry once again found himself rather uncomfortable from all the excess contact as she guided him to a nearby couch. "Sit, I'll cast some diagnostics to make sure you're alright."

He followed her instructions, not really finding it in himself to argue. As he sank into the rather comfortable cushions, he took the opportunity to observe his surroundings.

He was in a living room. A rather cozy one, if a bit small. It didn't look particularly luxurious, but it really didn't have to be. The couch he now sat on was at the centre of the room, perched in front of a trunk that seemed to serve as a makeshift coffee table. The trunk was laden with empty boxes of takeout and a few copies of Witch Weekly. From the cover of the top-most magazine, a rather attractive blonde witch with icy blue eyes, who seemed oddly familiar, though he couldn't place from just where, stared calculatingly back at him. Apparently Cho's parents weren't picky about tidying up.

Aside from the couch, there was a rather plush armchair in one corner, tucked beside a rather old looking bookcase; its shelves straining under the weight of the overwhelming number of books crammed into it. Had Hermione been there, her mouth would have undoubtedly been watering.

On the other side of the room, between a set of doors he hadn't noticed, a small heart crackled merrily. Various knickknacks adorned the mantelpiece, including a framed picture of what appeared to be a much younger Cho, perhaps 6 or 7 years of age, zipping around on a tiny broom. Chasing after her was a stout, visibly balding Asian man, a perpetual smile adhered to his face.

"That's my Uncle," Cho explained, following his gaze, waving her wand in various complex patterns. "He played for the Tunshill Tornadoes when he was younger. He's the reason I got into quidditch in the first place."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, turning his head to watch as a multitude of coloured lights flashed in rapid succession from Cho's wand. It was rather disorienting and distracting. It was also baffling that she seemed to be able to perform magic outside Hogwarts without any owls swooping in to deliver letters of expulsion.

He was about to voice his observation when Cho suddenly stopped. With a sigh, she stowed her wand up her sleeve before stalking over to the fireplace.

"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong," She explained lifting up a small pot of purplish grey powder from a nearby ledge, "Nothing physically at least. Still, when you get the chance, I'd recommend some rest."

Harry nodded, unsure as to when she became a supposed expert on health, but accepted her statement regardless. He'd learned long ago not to fight Madam Pomfrey, and right now, Cho's clinical manner of speaking was reminding strongly of the Hogwarts medi-witch.

"Here's the floo powder," She stated, proffering the pot of dust, "I'll let you have some privacy while you make your calls. Sue's out right now, and won't be back for a few hours. If you need me, just shout."

Harry didn't know who Sue was, but was thankful nonetheless that no one would barge in.

"I didn't expect this," Harry admitted as Cho ventured back to the couch. "You know, considering the whole Marietta thing, I wasn't sure you'd be willing to help."

Cho frowned.

"I don't know why you're dragging that up now," she snapped, shoving the powder harshly into one of his hands. "Here I was, trying to help. I could have left you there, you know."

Harry glared back. If she wanted to be angry, he was happy to reciprocate. He had a lot to be angry about.

"Instead, I'm risking my safety, my friend's safety, in order to keep _you_ out of harm. Because it's the right thing to do," She snarled, narrowing the space between them. I single, petite finger jabbed him in the chest. It hurt more than he would have expected. "I returned to Hogwarts after my seventh year just so I could help protect the younger students, and I have all the scars to prove it. I could have run. I could have hidden. But I didn't. I stood, and I fought, just like you taught me to. So don't you ever question my willingness to help, Harry Potter!"

Without waiting for a reply, she pulled a 180 and stormed towards one of the doors Harry had noticed earlier by the fireplace, leaving him baffled in her wake. Pulling the door sharply open, she paused, closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, as if willing herself to calm down.

"I'll be in the next room if you need me," she stated evenly, apparently having reached a more relaxed state through her meditative exercise. "So… yeah…"

She trailed off awkwardly, letting the statement hang tense in the air. Her eyes shifted uneasily from the doorway to Harry, who remained rooted on the sofa. After a moment of silence, she let out a sigh, and disappeared behind the door, closing it as she departed, leaving Harry alone with the floo powder and his thoughts.

 _What was she talking about_? His mind reeled trying to decipher everything she had said, but try as he might, he couldn't figure anything out. Either she was crazy, or he was. And he was sick of being called crazy; by the Prophet, by the Hogwarts student body, and by the wizarding world as a whole. He refused to hear it from himself as well.

Giving up on the monumental effort of grappling with the words Cho had hurled at him, he stood and made his way over to the fireplace. Whatever Cho's issues were, his friends were his first priority. They needed him, and he'd been dragging his feet.

He grabbed a pinch of the purple powder and prepared to throw it into the fire. That was as far as he got, as he realized he wasn't sure who to call. Grmmauld Place had been taken over, and there was a chance that Umbridge had escaped the centaurs by now, leaving Hogwarts as a non-option. Dumbledore was in hiding, but he knew not where. There was realistically only one place he _could_ call.

"The Burrow," he called out clearly, tossing the handful into the hearth. Verdant flames roared to life where previously there had been only embers.

Seeing that he'd been successful, Harry knelt. With a slight bit of trepidation pushed his head forward into the fire. Instantaneously, he felt his head begin to spin, as various fireplaces whizzed by at incomprehensible speeds.

With a lurch, he felt his head come to a stop, and he was presented with a clear view of a familiar sitting room, almost exactly as he remembered it. The only thing new was the giant, human sized bundle of yarn piled high beside an armchair. In the chair sat Molly Weasley, knitting something. One of her infamous Weasley Christmas sweaters, if Harry had to guess. So focused on her work was she, that she had apparently not noticed his sudden arrival.

"Mrs. Weasley," He called out, grabbing her attention.

"Harry!" she shouted, both in surprise and joy, as a giant beaming smile split her face, "So good to see you, dear! How are you? And what's with this Mrs. Weasley nonsense? I thought I told you to call me Molly."

 _She had?_ He certainly didn't remember being a part of that conversation.

"Do you know where Ron and Hermione are? Ginny too?" He asked, deciding to push it to the side in the lieu of more pressing matters.

Mrs. Weasley stared at him blankly for a few seconds, as if taken off guard by the question.

"Ginny?" She murmured, in a tone that sounded almost suspicious to Harry. "I supposed she'll be at practice at this hour," She shrugged. "As for Ron and Hermione, well, they'll be at the Ministry. Shouldn't you be there as well?"

How did she know about their trip to the Ministry? Had Snape passed on his message about Sirius like he had hoped? If so, and Ron and Hermione were still there, why wasn't the Order on high alert?

"Uh, no," Harry said, deciding to answer the Weasley matriarch's question before asking any of his own. "I don't know what happened, but we got separated. I need to find them. They're in danger."

"Danger?" Molly gasped, twisting her head to the side. Harry followed her line of sight to the magical clock that hung on the wall. "The clock says they're at work. Are you quite sure?"

"Positive," Harry replied, frowning. "Wait, work? What do you mean, _work_?"

Molly's head snapped back to face his.

"At the Ministry," she stated, looking very scandalized. "It's a Friday."

Harry stared in shock.

"Th-that can't be," He stammered, "It's Monday!"

Mrs. Weasley frowned. "Are you feeling alright Harry?" she asked, her voice softening.

"I'm fine," Harry huffed, waving off her concern. Or, he would have waved it off, had he been more than just a floating, disembodied head at that moment.

He'd evidently been out cold for almost an entire week. He needed to know what all had happened in the interim. Why were people still at the Ministry? What had happened to the prophecy?

"Where's Sirius?" was the question he finally voiced. It was perhaps the most important; the reason he had launched the foray to the Ministry in the first place. "Is he safe?"

Harry's gut fell out from beneath him at the look of sadness she gave him.

"Harry," she breathed out. "Oh, Harry, are you sure you're alright?"

Harry shook his head. Sirius had to be okay. They'd gone to rescue him, hadn't they? That was days ago; The Order would have saved him as soon as they found out. That had to have.

"I have to go," he mumbled, pulling his head back.

Molly's shouts were muffled as he passed through the flames, and then he was standing. He remained there; frozen and numb, refusing to process what Mrs. Weasley had said.

Then, with a jolt, he urged himself forward and began frantically knocking on the door Cho had left through.

"What's wrong?" She gasped, upon seeing how ashen his complexion had become.

"I need to get to the Ministry," He stated, brokering no argument.

"Um… okay," She responded, clearly confused, before gesturing him to follow her through the door.

He found himself in rather small bedroom. A single bed occupied the majority of the space the room offered, its sheets disheveled. A heaping pile of clothes sat unfolded atop the mattress, with various other articles strewn about the floor. Harry blushed and tilted his head upwards upon spotting a frilly white brassier in a nearby corner.

"Sorry about the mess," Cho murmured, scurrying about the room, picking things up and setting them back down. Harry elected to stay in the doorway to allow her space to move. "My ID should be here somewhere."

Harry, nodded absent-mindedly, and occupied himself by twiddling his thumbs anxiously. Cho apparently was able to locate what she was looking for, as she shouted out in victory and held aloft a rather crumpled piece of paper. Hastily folding it into quarters and stuffing it into a pocket before picking a robe off the bead and putting it on, she made her way back to Harry.

"I assume you have your badge on you?" She asked, fixing one of her sleeves, as it had folded awkwardly when she put her arm through it.

"My badge?" He blinked. "What badge?"

"Your Auror badge," She responded, as if it had been obvious.

Harry tilted his head to the side, trying to figure out if she was joking or not. Coincidentally, she seemed to be doing the same about him.

"Why would I have an Auror badge?" He questioned.

"Because it's your job," She answered, clearly bewildered.

Seeing his blank stare, she reached a hand towards his forehead. He stepped back, this time not suppressing the reflex to move away. She pulled her hand back as well, clutching it to her chest in shock.

"Okay," She began slowly, "Why don't we start from the top. Why do you need to get to the Ministry?"

Harry sighed impatiently. "Sirius is in trouble," He replied, not stopping to think about whether or not she would even know who Sirius is. "Voldemort has him."

"Sirius Black?" Cho asked.

Apparently she did know who Sirius was.

"Yeah," Harry responded, "But he's innocent. He never did the things he was accused of. Listen, we need to go now. We need to save him."

Cho's gaze fell uncomfortably to her feet.

"Harry," she whispered, "I think we should go to St. Mungo's"

"Why?" Harry asked, taking a step backwards. That was the same reaction Mrs. Weasley had when he brought up Sirius.

"Because," she said, tilting her head back upwards to look him in the eye, "Sirius Black is dead."

Harry forgot how to breathe. Ice filled his veins.

"He died five years ago."

-0-0-0-0-

 **AN:**

 **So, that was the first chapter. I've had this idea rolling in my head for a while, and finally got around to outlining it.**

 **For those of you who've followed me for my other stories, you'll know that I'm notorious for leaving them unfinished. I'd like to put your mind at rest by saying, you shouldn't have to fear that for this story. For one thing, I've fully outlined everything I want to have happen in this one in a separate document before even starting to write (On all my previous attempts, I planned out the starts and the ends, but then just filled in the middle as I went. It got sloppy, disorganized, and it ended up going nowhere. I always hated the results). For another, this story should be much shorter than what I planned any of my other stories to be. Maybe something like 10-ish chapters?**

 **Anyways, feel free to leave a review. I like them. Even critical ones. You can't improve without knowing what you did wrong.**

 **Also, yes, this will be a Daphne/Harry fic. Cho's just one of the characters in the story, and a rather important one at that. I've always felt like she gets a bad rap in the fandom, so I wanted to make a fic that pushed her forward to centre-stage for a bit and put her in a positive light.**

 **So many people call her out as being overly emotional, but I have to assume those people are either unfeeling psychopaths, or people who've never experienced loss in their entire lives. If it's the latter, I envy them. Losing someone close to you, like a boyfriend or girlfriend, while they're so young, and so suddenly, is a VERY hard thing to handle. In fact, I think Cho held up surprisingly well in cannon. She didn't openly cry in the halls or in public; just in front of Harry, someone she felt she could open up to.**

 **That might have been poor judgement, since Harry had been taught through the Dursleys to never cry or show emotions. They thought it was a weakness, and as such, it made Harry perhaps the most poorly equipped person in all of Hogwarts to handle Cho properly. Had roles been reversed, and Cedric been the one to help her pick up the pieces, he likely would have been able to do so. He also likely would have discouraged her from trying to fill the gap left behind by dating someone else before she was ready (unlike what Harry did).**

 **She was a wreck. She had poor judgement. That doesn't mean she's a bad person. It just means that Harry was poorly suited for her, and that she was capable of strong feelings. The latter of which, I'm sure Dumbledore would have argued is actually a very good trait to have. I would too.**

 **Not to mention the fact that, as stated in this chapter, she returned to Hogwarts even after she had graduated, when Voldemort had taken over, and fought. Harry's 6** **th** **year would have been her last, and yet she was still there in the Room of Requirements in The Deathly Hallows, with the rest of the DA, both in the books and the movies. Yet nobody seems to take that into account.**


	2. Chapter 2 – An Unexpected Introduction

**Chapter 2 – An Unexpected Introduction**

Harry stared absentmindedly into the mug of cold tea he clutched in his hands. It had been warm when Cho had given it to him; some herbal blend her mother had always liked, she had explained. Harry hadn't particularly been listening. He hadn't noticed when Cho had guided him back to the couch to sit either.

Cho was in her bedroom. Not that Harry was particularly aware of her absence. His mind was simply too numb to process anything right now. Sirius was dead. Cho hadn't known how it had happened, merely that the papers had reported it as happening at the Department of Mysteries.

He had failed. Sirius was dead, and he had failed to save him. The one hope he had of eventually having a proper family was gone, and it was his own fault. More than that, he had apparently lost five years of his life.

Harry barely registered the sound of a door creaking open. It wasn't until his field of vision was filled with powder blue that Harry finally looked up, finding Cho standing before him. She was wearing a set of professional robes that reminded him of the ones he'd seen being worn by the healers when he had had gone to visit Mr. Weasley after the snake attack, only those had been a rather unsightly shade of lime green.

"I sent a letter to your friends, Ron and Hermione," Cho began upon seeing him look up, "I told them to meet us at St. Mungo's. You can talk to them there."

Harry frowned. "Why St. Mungo's?" Harry asked.

"Because Harry," she replied, reaching to take the cup from his hands, "Something or someone's been tampering with your memories."

"And they can help me remember." he responded, watching her push aside the stack of magazines on the trunk to make room for the cup. His eyes were once again drawn briefly to the witch on the cover of the topmost issue; the blonde one who looked oddly familiar. She smirked up at him, her blue eyes blazing, as if taunting him.

"I sure hope so," Cho whispered, before turning back to face him. "And then we can maybe figure out just who is responsible."

Harry nodded slowly, an overwhelming sense of apprehension setting in. What would happen if he never did remember? Or worse; what if he did? If Sirius died at the Ministry, had he seen it? Did he want to remember seeing it? Harry honestly couldn't decide. Maybe whoever had done this had actually done him a favour.

Cho smiled weakly, as if sensing his hesitancy.

"Right," She began, patting along the sides of her blue robes, "Wand, ID, a handful of Sickles… That's everything I need. Shall we?"

He watched as she stuffed her fists into her pockets and began fidgeting with their contents. Seeing his gaze, she hastily extracted one of her hands, and held it out for him to take.

Harry sighed. There was no reason to put off the inevitable, he supposed. Reaching out to take her hand, he brought himself into a stand. The room warped around him, and he felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube.

This time, when the sensation was over, Cho was there to help him keep his balance. It was much easier than the last time, but it was still excruciatingly disorienting.

Blinking a few times to allow his eyes time to adjust to the suddenly much brighter environment, Harry squinted at the wizarding hospital's familiar and overcrowded reception area. Short of housing a new batch of patients waiting in the surrounding chairs, it hadn't changed in the slightest since his last and only visit. It even sported the same surly looking witch manning the reception desk.

Included in the surrounding crowd were an elderly witch whose face appeared to be upside-down, a man who was hiccupping rather violently, his hair rapidly between different vibrant shades each time, and a rather surly gentleman who seemed rather miffed at the fact that the top of his head was on fire.

In a nearby chair sat a man whose arm appeared to have been transformed into a rather friendly and excitable alligator. The oddly affixed reptilian seemed determined at that moment to affectionately lick the man's face, despite his tired protests. After finally managing to wrangle the alligator down into his lap with his free arm, the man glanced up at Harry, who had been watching with bewildered fascination as the entire scene played out.

The man's face lit up in instant recognition of the bespectacled wizard, and he opened his mouth to say something. However, at that moment, the alligator broke free and tackled the man, emitting rather unfitting purring sounds as it did so.

With a lurch, Harry found himself being pulled away from the spectacle by Cho, who dragged Harry through the crowd, apologizing gently as she bumped into a few patrons along the way, and up to the front desk.

"You're not on shift today, Trainee Healer Chang," the witch behind the desk drawled, not even looking up from the ratty magazine in her hands that Harry was surprised to note was an old issue of The Quibbler.

"I'm here to see Healer Moolman about a patient," Cho stated calmly, placing the folded up paper he had seen her retrieve from her bedroom earlier in front of the receptionist.

The receptionist didn't even so much as glance at it.

"Level four. You know where his office is," She stated lazily, before diverting all of her attention back to her magazine.

"Helpful as always," Cho muttered under her breath, pulling Harry past the desk to a set of lifts.

 _Those must be new,_ Harry decided. He remembered distinctly having to climb a set of stairs to reach the upper floors. Clearly the hospital had seen some sort of renovation.

Harry took the opportunity to take one last glance at the man with an alligator arm, to see him staring back with a dazed expression, the reptile gurgling merrily in his lap.

Boarding one of the lifts and letting the doors close behind them, Cho and Harry found themselves shrouded in heavy silence. Not even the humming of motors that one might expect from a muggle lift was heard, as like with all things in the wizarding world, magic handled the workload.

"Healer Moolman is a brilliant healer," Cho commented, reaching her hand into her pocket to once again twiddle with whatever was inside; a coin, perhaps, if Harry had to take a guess. "He moved here last year from South Africa to take over as head of our new Callus Jameson ward, for patients who've suffered from magical mind alteration."

"Right," Harry acknowledged uncomfortably. He'd never been under anyone's medical care aside from Madam Pomfrey, and wasn't sure what the expected protocol was.

"He's brilliant," Cho repeated, almost as if trying to reassure herself, rather than Harry. "He's just also a little… eccentric. Just, whatever you do, don't mention cats. He… well, just don't mention them, alright?"

"Uh…" Harry began, dubious of what he had gotten himself into.

But before he could say anything more, the lift came to a halt. A clear metallic _ding_ sounded out, though Harry couldn't discern a specific direction it had come from. It was almost as if the very air around them was the source. The doors slid open, and Harry once more found himself being propelled forwards by Cho.

Rather hurriedly, they made their way down a wide hallway lined with portraits of long dead witches and wizards. This part of the hospital, Harry recognized. He nearly tripped when he tried to slow down as they passed the door he knew lead to the ward Neville's parents called home. Cho's firm grip, however, and constant pace pulled him ever onwards.

He was about to ask her what the rush was for, when an aged wizard, who was shuffling towards them down the hall, looked up as they neared. "Oi!" The wizard shouted, lifting a boney finger to point at them, "It's Harry Potter!"

Several doors were flung open at the proclamation, and Harry found himself the subject of countless owlish stares. Almost at once, the gawkers began murmuring amongst themselves. Although, unlike the usual snide whispers and sneers of distain, many of the people they elapsed seemed to hold him with a distinct look of… reverence? It was much the same as when he had first visited the Leaky Cauldron with Hagrid, the summer before his first year.

He felt, more than heard Cho beside him let out a groan of displeasure as she began to pick up her pace even further. Harry nearly had to jog in order to keep the arm she gripped intact with the rest of his body, and he found himself at a loss trying to figure out how she managed to maintain such a rapid pace without seemingly breaking a sweat, considering how much shorter her legs were than his.

"Mister Potter!" a voice cried out, drawing Harry's attention towards a portly middle-aged woman with dirty blonde hair that appeared to be fading with age. She must have been a patient, as she was garbed in rather casual looking brownish-purple robes, rather than the lime green ones that denoted healers, though Harry couldn't tell at a glance what her affliction could possibly be.

What was truly baffling about her, however, was the fact that she somehow was able to keep astride himself and Cho, despite the fact that Cho had once again sped up, forcing Harry now to truly jog in order to keep up.

"Mister Potter, it is truly an honour to meet you," the middle-aged witch gushed, grabbing his free hand and shaking it enthusiastically. "My son, Ernie, spoke very highly of you. He always spoke about how you helped him and his friends pass their OWLs. I simply can't thank you enough for all that you've done."

An image of Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff flashed through Harry's memory, as he wondered if that was the son she was talking about. He had the same colour of hair as she did, if less grey, and he was part of the DA. He was about to voice this, when Cho cut through.

"I'm sorry everyone, but we have a very important meeting to get to, and we're already running behind schedule," She projected clearly to the occupants of the hallway, not pausing to break stride, "I'm going to have to ask you all to clear a path please!"

There were a few audible grumbles from the crowd, and the woman who must have been Mrs. Macmillan seemed rather put out, but they complied, allowing the former Hogwarts students to pass through the remainder of their journey uninterrupted.

In quick succession, they arrived at a heavy wooden door adorned with an austere bronze plaque that read 'Callus Jameson Ward'. Cho threw the door open, ushered Harry inside, and firmly shut the door behind them.

"Here, take a seat," she commanded gently, ushering him towards a nearby empty bed, one of the many that lined the ward's stone walls.

He did as she commanded, and watched as she took a moment to lean against the nearby stonework to catch her breath. Harry noticed that her cheeks were visibly flushed. Well, at least he could regain some of his pride. The near-running had taken more out of her than he had initially thought. She'd just been good at hiding it.

After a moment, her breathing slowed, and she returned to her usual upright stance.

"Well, that was unpleasant," Cho mumbled, staring down at her feet as she shuffled them awkwardly. Harry wasn't sure if it had been directed towards him or not, but he found he quite agreed regardless.

"It's better than all the whispers behind my back, I guess," Harry replied, offering a weak smile, unsure of whether he should be replying to her murmured statement, or completely ignoring it. "I guess the Daily Prophet's changed its tune about me."

Cho snorted. "You can say that again," She said, peering up at him with a smirk, "I guess slaying a dark lord has its perks."

Harry blinked rapidly.

Seeing his blank look, Cho's face fell.

"Right," she sighed, her posture sagging. "Just another reason we need to get you looked at." She pushed herself gently off of the wall and began to stride purposefully past his bed. "I'll go find Healer Moolman. You can just… wait here."

Hi hand caught her wrist, halting her in her tracks. He hadn't consciously chosen to do so. He'd never been the kind of person to be entirely comfortable with physical contact, even if was in the form of Mrs. Weasley's bone-crushing but undeniably warm hugs. And right now, his feelings on Cho were… well, to call them mixed would be an understatement. He certainly wasn't as close with her as he was with his best friend's mother; the woman he almost considered to be his own.

His had had reached out almost by reflex. He simply couldn't let Cho leave him there alone. Not yet. Not before he was absolutely certain.

The apprentice healer turned, to regard him. His eyes probed hers, hunting frantically for any sign of deception. He was unaware of the desperation that he was palpably exuding, or of the raw emotion that was laid bare on his face. All knew was the question he needed an answer to.

"Is he really gone?" he asked, uncaring of the crack in his voice.

His jaw clenched in anticipation as Cho placed her free hand on his shoulder; a gesture of comfort, that for once, he accepted.

"He's gone" she replied with a firm nod.

Every ounce of tension in his body dissipated and he slumped backwards into the bed, no longer capable of holding himself upright. He closed his eyes, blinking back tears he had never known he was capable of shedding.

It had been an incredibly emotionally taxing day; perhaps the single most stressful day he'd yet experienced in his short, but eventful life. And yet, that one shred of news had made it all worth it. The bastard was dead. The man who had killed his parents, who had torn apart his one chance at growing up in a happy, loving home, who had taken that chance away from countless others; was gone. He was free.

He vaguely listened as Cho's footsteps retreated from his bedside, leaving him alone to his thoughts. As the truth of Voldemort's downfall truly began to sink in, Harry began to consider what his next step was.

Apparently, someone had been tampering with his memories, but that was about to be fixed, if Cho was to be believed. Aside from that, the path before him was wide open. He no longer had the shadow of a crazed dark lord hanging over his head, and he supposedly was out of Hogwarts. Quite frankly, he wasn't sure what he should be doing.

He'd never envisioned a future that didn't involve facing Voldemort or finishing his studies. Aside from the one conversation with McGonagall earlier in the year, he hadn't even considered what career path he wanted to take. He'd mentioned the possibility of becoming an Auror since he had little experience beyond fighting dark wizards, short of perhaps quidditch. According to Cho, an auror is exactly what he had become.

It fit, he supposed. Just because Voldemort was dead, didn't mean there weren't other wizards out there that were willing to hurt others. There may still be former Death Eaters out there operating independently, and they would need to be stopped. Not to mention the fact that Draco Malfoy of all people had been in Grimmauld Place; that was something Harry would need to get to the bottom of.

Later, though. For the time being, he was more than content with basking in the fact that Voldemort was dead. Nothing could erase the mood that the monumentous revelation had given him.

"Oh, well hello there!" trilled an overly enthusiastic and horrifyingly familiar voice, "You must be new here. You look familiar; are you a member of my fan club?"

Harry slowly peeled his eyes open and cringed, rather violently, at the blindingly white smile and flamboyantly coiffed honey blonde hair that greeted him.

"Lockhart?" he groaned. _How about that_ , he inwardly snarked, _something could erase his good mood_.

"The one and only!" the former defense professor proudly proclaimed, tilting his chin upwards. "Well, that is unless, of course, there are other Lockharts out there. I can't seem to remember if there are. My apologies."

He didn't appear very apologetic, and instead took a seat at the edge of the bed Harry had been laying on, his grin never leaving his face. Harry scrambled to stand, so that he could put some distance between himself and the clearly confused man.

 _It's like the universe can't let me catch a break_ , Harry inwardly sighed. He had nearly forgotten about seeing Lockhart with Hermione and Ron when Mr. Weasley had been hospitalized. And he most certainly hadn't considered the possibility that he'd be sharing a room with the man. Though, in hindsight, it made sense. Cho had said that this ward was dedicated to patients who had been victims of mind magic. Literally a mental ward; something the self-obsessed blonde man needed. Though, that thought certainly didn't help Harry's self-esteem all too much.

"Care for a pastry?" the older man asked cheerfully, pulling the dark haired wizard from his musings. Lockhart then pulled a small, crumpled paper bag out of one of his pockets and withdrew a smooshed looking Danish from within.

"Er… no thanks," Harry replied, eying the malformed confectionery with trepidation.

"Oh well," Lockhart merely shrugged, showing no outward signs that he really cared one way or another, "more for me then."

The man daintily began nibbling on the treat, making his delight well known through audio cues. Harry, who watched on, feeling repulsed at the display.

He was saved, however, by the sound of a squeaking door being thrown open. Tearing his eyes from the delicately feasting man before him, Harry spotted another man, wearing the lime green robes he knew denoted the healers of St Mungo's, striding purposefully into the ward trailed cautiously by a nervous looking Cho.

The newcomer was completely bald on the top of his head, and the light being given off by the wall-mounted torches he passed could be seen reflected clearly off of his rather shiny scalp. Despite his baldness, he sported an impressively bushy russet beard, that appeared as if some form of animal had latched itself onto the bottom half of his face. It wasn't particularly well-groomed, and a few braids could be seen poking out this way and that, with no real rhyme or reason.

"Good afternoon Gilderoy!" the man boomed in a rich, deep voice that carried the faintest hints of an accent. "I see you've made a new friend."

"Old friend, actually," Lockhart corrected, jovially gesturing at Harry with his pastry. "This here's Henry Porter! I taught him how to fly a broom, you know!"

"Is that so?" The bearded man asked, placing his hand on the former professor's shoulder as he neared. "Well, that sounds like quite the story. Why don't you tell Trainee Healer Chang here all about it?"

The blonde man happily nodded, turning to face Cho.

"Er, actually, my name is-," Harry began, before being cut off.

"I'm well aware of who you are, Mr. Potter," the healer stated, his eyes crinkling in amusement. He then gestured Harry over to another bed a few spaces down, leaving Cho and the now happily prattling Lockhart behind. "I also know that Gilderoy still has a long way to go on his journey to recovery. However, the fact that he remembers you, and recalls having taught you, even if the subject is incorrect, is a promising sign."

Harry nodded in understanding, watching said brain addled man gesture wildly with his hands, sprinkling crumbs from his Danish as he did so.

"Saved his life when he was just a child I did. He was in the bookstore, being attacked by an army of pixies, but I knew just how to rescue him," Harry overheard the man declare animatedly to Cho, who appeared to be taking notes on a small notepad.

"Miss Chang is helping me record his progress," The bald man explained, noticing his gaze. "It's very important that we catalogue everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem at the time. But, alas, we aren't here to chit-chat about other patients, are we? We're here because Miss Chang believes someone has been tampering with your memories."

"Right," Harry affirmed, clasping his hands together in his lap.

"I am Healer Moolman, in case she didn't mention me," the healer introduced himself, "my friends sometimes call me Jengo. It's not my real name, mind you, that's Abina; Abina Moolman. But you can see why Jengo fits better."

"Um… sure," Harry replied, not seeing at all why that would be the case.

It seemed to make Healer Moolman happy, as he clapped his hands together in delight, before pulling out his wand.

"Excellent!" he cried rather loudly, drawing a concerned glance, Harry noticed, from Cho, before she returned to listening to Lockhart. "I'm sure we'll get along famously!"

Reeling from the loud outburst, Harry contemplated whether or not he was better off with the nutter he had just escaped from than he was with this one. Cho _had_ warned that he was eccentric, Harry supposed.

Harry watched as the healer began to prod his knees with his wand. After a few uncomfortably harsh pokes, Harry yelped, as Healer Moolman unleashed an array of sparks from his wand mid-jab.

"Just testing you reflexes," Moolman stated blithely, cutting Harry off from cursing at him. "Now I'm going to see if I can detect any residual magic around your head. It might give us a lead as to what spell was used on you."

Harry then found the healer's wand tip pressed against his temple. It wasn't as rough or painful as it had been on his knees, but the bespectacled wizard still watched warily out of the corner of his eyes for any signs of unwanted spellcasting.

After a moment, Harry could feel warmth begin to emanate from the wood contacting his skin. Very quickly, the heat intensified. Just as it felt as if his skin might begin to sear, the wand was lifted away, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Held aloft at Healer Moolman's wandpoint, Harry could see a glowing ball of blue that seemed to slowly pulsate. The healer carefully extracted a piece of parchment from somewhere within his robes, and tapped the suspended orb of light against the paper.

"Interesting," Moolman murmured, watching as the orb sank into the page, spreading tendrils of magic that began to coalesce into strange amorphous splotches. Languidly, the splotches began to consolidate into much more defined shapes. In less than a minute, the light had completely faded, and the paper was covered in neat lines of strange runic lettering.

Harry found he couldn't decipher any of it, though the healer seemed to think it meant something. The heavily bearded man hummed pensively as he beheld the cuneiform scrawl.

"What does it say?" Harry asked, drawing the other man's attention.

"This?" Healer Moolman replied, shaking the page, "I haven't the foggiest."

Harry merely stared at the healer in befuddlement.

"I'll have to send it out to get it translated," the healer continued, setting the parchment aside. "I just like looking at the glyphs. Some of them look like little owls, and I find myself quite fond of owls."

Harry found he had no response to the odd man's equally odd declaration, so he chose to remain silent. He'd been in the presence of Luna Lovegood plenty of times over the course of the various DA meetings that had been held, so he was used to odd. That didn't mean he was any better at responding to it.

Thankfully, he needn't have said anything, as at that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Healer Moolman's attention was briefly redirected towards Cho.

"Trainee Healer Chang, would you please be so kind as to answer that?" He called out.

The witch in question simply nodded in response, before quietly saying something to Lockhart, who appeared to be pantomiming what looked like an elaborate dance routine, using pastries as props. The former professor seemed not to take any notice of her departure, and simply continued with his performance.

Harry watched as Cho pulled the door partway open, and gaped in surprise as a black, feathery mass fluttered through and perched primly on her shoulder.

To his left, he heard Healer Moolman begin to mutter disdainfully under his breath. Harry managed to pick out the phrases, "ruddy raven", "definitely not an owl", and "affront to bird-kind", amongst his grumbling.

He didn't pay the healer any mind, however, as focus was still at the door. Due to his angle from the bed, he couldn't quite see what was standing on the other side. He could only faintly pick up hushed whispers with his ears as Cho conversed with whoever was in the hall, interspersed with the occasional "caw!" from the bird on her shoulder, which seemed to be nibbling on a strand of her hair.

"Blasted thing, thinking it should be delivering mail," Healer Moolman griped, as he began waving his wand in front of Harry's face. Harry was briefly dazed by the bright colours it emitted.

"Why shouldn't a raven be allowed to carry mail?" Harry asked, struggling to keep his eyes from crossing.

The healer abruptly stopped with his wand movements before directing a look at Harry that made the dark haired wizard feel as if he had just insulted the healer's ancestors.

"It's not a post owl," Moolman harrumphed, crossing his arms sternly. "Only post owls should carry post."

Harry had opened his mouth to respond, when Cho called out from across the room.

"Healer Moolman," she said, her voice polite and professional. Though, Harry could see her hands occasionally twitch, as if she was forcing them to stay still. "There are visitors at the door, shall I let them in?"

"You've already let the bloody bird in," the healer grumbled under his breath before closing his eyes and letting out a deep exhale. Seemingly more collected, he spoke out loud, addressing Cho's question in a much more pleasant manner, "Visiting hours aren't over for a few more hours. As long as they don't interrupt my examination, then I don't see why not."

Cho nodded, allowing the door to swing fully open.

"Ron!" Harry gasped in relief, seeing who was on the other side, "Hermione!"

"Harry!" Hermione shouted happily in return, "Oh, we were so worried when we-,"

"Easy, 'Mione," Ron interrupted, gesturing to her o lower her voice. "There's other people."

"Oh," Hermione murmured, glancing around the ward, as if only just realizing where they were. "Sorry"

Harry cast a glance at Healer Moolman, who seemed completely unconcerned about the presence of the redhead and the bushy-haired witch, and had simply returned to waving his want around Harry's torso.

After a moment's hesitation, Ron placed a hand on Hermione's back and urged her forward. Hastily, they crossed the room to Harry's bedside, where Cho hurriedly conjured a pair of seats for them to sit.

Perching herself on her chair, Hermione immediately latched onto Harry's hand and held it, as if reassuring to herself that he was in fact physically present.

"Harry, are you alright?" she asked, her eyes shining with worry, "when we read Cho's message to come see you at St. Mungo's, we weren't sure what to think. And now she said that you've lost your memories. What happened?"

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly, returning his muggleborn friend's intense gaze. With a start, he realized she was wearing makeup. It was just small amount around the eyes, but it came to a surprise for the green eyed wizard. Hermione had never worn makeup as long as he'd known her, save perhaps for at the Yule Ball in fourth year.

"Well… what happened?" Ron asked. Harry turned to face is best mate, shocked to find a faint trace of stubble lining his jaw.

"We were at the Ministry," Harry began, scrunching up his face, trying to remember the events. "It was us three, Ginny, Neville, and Luna. We were trying to rescue Sirius."

Hermione's hand suddenly stilled in his own. "Harry, that was fifth year," she gasped.

"I know that," Harry frowned. "We were ambushed. There were Death Eaters, and they attacked us. We ran but… I don't know. I must have gotten knocked out, because all of a sudden, I was waking up in Grimmauld Place. Someone else was there. I don't know who, but they left. And then I saw Malfoy there. Draco Malfoy."

Ron and Hermione shared a glance, making Harry frown even further.

"So you don't remember anything after fifth year?" Ron asked.

"Apparently," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

He supposed he shouldn't be upset with his friends, but the situation was an extremely stressful one. One minute he was fighting for his life and the next minute he was in an incredibly unfamiliar situation, not knowing how he had gotten from point A to point B. Sirius was dead, and for all he knew, so were countless others. He didn't even know if Neville or Luna had made it out safely.

"Wait," Harry realized with a start, sitting bolt upright, "Where are Neville and Luna? Were they hurt? Did they make it out of the Ministry?"

"They're fine," Hermione reassured gently, "Neville's at Hogwarts; he's apprenticing under Professor Sprout. And Luna's somewhere in Norway on a magizoological expedition that Newt Scamander's grandson funded."

Harry wasn't entirely certain who Newt Scamander was supposed to be, but he felt relief at the news nonetheless. With a sigh, he slumped against the wall behind him, narrowly avoiding Moolman's perpetually flourishing wand.

"That's…" He began, unsure of how to word exactly how he felt. "Well, that's good," he finally settled on, certain it was an understatement.

Hermione simply nodded, letting a comfortable silence hang in the air.

"Now all I need to figure out," Harry broke the silence with a scowl, "is why the hell Malfoy was at Sirius' house?"

"Well…" Ron hesitated, "Uh… actually, it's your house."

 _Right_ , Harry internally brooded, _because Sirius is dead._

Hermione elbowed Ron, who had the decency to look apologetic.

"That still begs the question," Harry pressed on, temporarily pushing down the feeling of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him, "Why was Malfoy in my house?"

"W-well, Harry," Hermione explained, tripping over her words, "You see… the thing is… um. You sort of invited him there."

"Why the bloody hell would I invite Draco bloody Malfoy to my house?!" He roared, throwing his arms in the air, once again barely missing the flailing wand of the bearded healer.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, looking extremely flustered, when rapid banging at the door cut her off.

Cho, who had been standing at the foot of Harry's bed throughout the conversation with his two friends let out a quiet, "I'll get that."

The impatient knocking, which hadn't subsided, seemed to unsettle the Raven on her shoulder as she neared. It let out an annoyed squawk before taking flight towards the far end of the room, perching on the shoulder of a still dancing Lockhart, who seemed delighted at the bird's company.

The door was pulled open part way, cutting off the hammering sound. A few hushed whispers from Cho made their way to Harry's ears, before being cut out by a very harsh, very sharp bellow of, "Let me in, Chang, or I swear on my magic, I will hex you!"

The door was violently thrown open to reveal regal, but exceedingly annoyed looking blonde witch. Her profoundly blue eyes fell on his own, and her callous expression softened. With a sudden jolt of revelation, Harry recognized her from the cover of the magazine he had seen in Cho's apartment. Her finely tailored dress robes and neatly pulled back ponytail were exactly as he remembered from the image; not a single thread or strand of hair out of place.

A faint smile graced her lips as she stared at Harry, and he stared back. And then it was gone, replaced by the cold glare that had been affixed to her visage when she had first made her presence known. Only, it wasn't directed at him, it was directed to the former Ravenclaw seeker, who stood at her side, nervously wringer her fingers.

"Make no mistake, Chang, we will discuss just why I was not informed of his hospitalization later," She stated evenly, though there was an underlying threat to the statement.

Casting one last glare at the trainee healer, the blonde witch spun on her heels and began traipsing towards Harry.

As she approached, Hermione shot out of her seat, releasing Harry's hand as she did so.

"Granger, Weasley," the witch greeted with a stiff nod, before lowering herself into the chair Hermione had just vacated. With a shock, Harry found her hand reaching for his own.

"I'm certain I told you not to blow yourself up," She stated primly, pulling his hand towards her so that she could inspect his fingers, wiggling each one individually, as if to ensure they were still intact.

"Er," Harry faltered, pulling his hand from her grasp, none too pleased about being touched by someone he didn't know. Especially after the way she had treated Cho. "Who exactly are you?"

The woman in question seemed startled by his action, her hands falling to her lap.

"Harry," Hermione said haltingly, throwing Ron a worried glance, "This is Daphne. Daphne Greengrass. She's your fiancé."

Harry cocked his head to Ron, then to Cho, an uneasy smile tugging the corner of his mouth. She was joking, right? Fiancé? Ron offered an awkward shrug. Cho was staring at the floor, still twiddling her finger. With a sinking feeling of horror, he realized she wasn't joking.

"I'm engaged?!" He shouted indignantly.

-0-0-0-0-

 **AN:**

 **So, this was actually a tough chapter to start out. I had outlined the story, but in the outline, all I put was "they go to St. Mungo's". I ended up spending a LOT of time figuring out how. My first draft had them starting the chapter at St. Mungo's, but it ended up feeling rushed. Then I tried switching perspectives to Ron and Hermione to smooth out that transition, but I didn't like that. Harry needs to be the perspective character for this fic. He's the one deposited in this new reality, and the whole point is that the audience discover things as he does, so I scrapped that. Then I wrote out basically what there is now, but it seemed too long winded, so I abridged the journey, but again, it felt rushed.**

 **I finally settled on what there is now after some internal debating. Maybe it's more long-winded than it needs to be, and there are elements like the alligator armed guy, which have no bearing on the story, but it's fun IMO, and sort of segues into Harry's shock at his newfound fame after having beaten Voldemort. Long story short, kids, if you choose to do story outlines, be specific with them. It'll help you out later.**

 **Side note, I'd like to thank everyone for the warm reception the previous chapter received. There were a staggering number of follows and favourites in the first 24 hours of its release; more than any other first chapter of any other fic I've written. There've been surprisingly few reviews so far though. That's fine; I don't want to make anyone feel like they have to review if they don't want to. However, if I do end up making any spelling or grammatical mistakes, please feel free to inform me of them in a review. I know how infuriating they can be to see, and want to correct them ASAP.**

 **Also, I've decided to make these post-chapter Author's notes my maniacal angry rantings at the Harry Potter fandom for no other reason than I want an outlet through which to vent. Enjoy.**

 **One thing that's interesting to me within the realm of fan-based works is the spread of original ideas that eventually take root and become commonplace.**

 **For example, within HP, it's very common to see people name Hermione's parents (since their first names were never given in cannon) Dan and Emma. This of course comes from the fact that Daniel Radcliffe and Emma Watson are the actors that play Harry and Hermione respectively. This started from fics that paired Harry with Hermione as a way to cement the fact that they "belong" together.**

 **However, this naming convention took hold of the fandom at large, and you can find it very frequently in fics that pair Harry with other people instead. Personally, I'm not a fan of the names, especially in non H/Hr fics, but it's still taken hold nonetheless. What was once an admittedly creative and original choice, is now clichéd.**

 **You see the same thing all the time now with Dumbledore being evil and manipulative, with Molly dosing Harry with love potions keyed to Ginny, with Harry finding out he's heir to the house of Slytherin through "Rite of Conquest", etc. Each of these were at one point truly clever concepts, that people less creative and less clever have latched onto and appropriated without truly understanding what made the original concept great.**

 **One such "fanon" concepts that I don't believe was ever creative or clever in the first place, is the notion that Blaise Zabini is a good person, who rejects the notion of blood supremacy, and who opposes the Death Eaters. You often see him as best friends of Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass, who both share his opinion.**

 **The reason I hate this is because it flies in the face of already established cannon. Not only that, it flies in the face of cannon, while there's a much better option available.**

 **From cannon sources, we know that Blaise Zabini is arrogant; to the point that Draco seems humble in comparison. We also know that he's a staunch blood-purist. Go back and re-read Half Blood Prince if you don't believe me. In it, he says Ginny is attractive, but he'd never touch her, because she's a blood traitor.**

 **So, if Blaise isn't our best option for a male, light-side sympathizer from Harry's year in Slytherin, who is? Theodore Nott. From cannon sources, Nott is described as being "a solitary boy who has never felt compelled to join 'gangs,' such as the one headed by Draco Malfoy".**

 **His father apparently was a Death Eater, and he supposedly works for Lucius Malfoy in the future (though, that's in The Cursed Child, and really, who cares about The Cursed Child?), but he himself is never described as being a blood purist or a Death Eater.**

 **So, why is he a loner? Maybe he rejects the idea of pure-blood superiority that the rest of his housemates subscribe to. Maybe it's another reason. Maybe he's by far the most evil character in the entire series. I don't know; you decide. He's got a lot of potential is all I'm saying; definitely far more than Zabini, who's pretty much set in stone.**


End file.
